


I'm wishing on shooting stars

by tattedmariposa, WET_NOODLES



Category: Persona 4
Genre: F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:46:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattedmariposa/pseuds/tattedmariposa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WET_NOODLES/pseuds/WET_NOODLES
Summary: She wants to make it perfect.





	

“You moved the pull-up stand,” Yukiko notes, half a question and half an observation. “Wouldn’t it be hard to use it like that?”

Chie follows her line of sight to where she’d pushed the stand against the far corner, wedged between her desk and wall, and conspicuously useless. Panic flits in Chie’s stomach while mortified intrigue settles somewhere lower, and she wonders if Yukiko’s also noticed the sticker residue on the headboard, or the exercise gear tucked under the immaculately-made bed, or the fact that she basically slammed the door in Muku’s face before he could follow them into the room.

Figuring it’s the less embarrassing admission, Chie shrugs and says, “It’s weird, but I actually have a harder time doing pull-ups now than before the case,” before hastily adding, “I guess because muscle’s heavier?”

Yukiko makes some noise of agreement in the back of her throat, soft and noncommittal. “That makes sense,” she says, after a long moment that stretches even longer afterward. The almost-silence — the buzz of the overhead light, Yukiko shifting her weight from one foot to the other, a car going by outside — is awful, but if there was an easy way to make it better, Chie’s sure she would’ve done it already.

Instead she watches, uselessly, as Yukiko takes another step away, right into the space where her punching bag was hanging as of yesterday, halfway wondering if Yukiko noticed the absence of that as well. And when Yukiko’s dark, inscrutable eyes turn from Chie’s tidy desk and back to the bed, it’s all she can do to—

“Can I sit down?”

“Oh! Right, sorry!” Chie says, loud to her own ears. “Yeah, of course! Go for it.”

And it’s only after they’re both sitting there, her eyes glued to Yukiko’s long, slender fingers, carefully folded against the dark fabric of her skirt, that it occurs to Chie: not only has she never _needed_  to offer before, but Yukiko has never actually _asked_ either. They’ve shared her bed a million times before: doing homework together, painting each other’s nails, watching movies… and for the life of her, Chie can’t remember a single time when it was ever like — like this.

What’s worse is that she knows, all too well, why it’s different now.

“Chie, I…”

Yukiko hesitates, and Chie’s flooded with such a weird mix of concern and relief, to have concrete proof that maybe Yukiko’s just as lost, just as nervous as Chie feels herself. She can see it in the set of Yukiko’s soft lips, feel it in the way her muscles tense up, where their thighs just barely touch. And before she can overthink it, she’s reaching out, taking one of Yukiko’s hands into her own.

It’s not much, Chie figures, but it’s enough to help Yukiko find her voice.

“I had… a really nice time with you tonight.” Yukiko even punctuates it with a squeeze of her fingers and a ghost of a smile. It’s almost embarrassing, Chie thinks, the way it leaves her nearly breathless, like the gentlest possible punch to the lungs.

“Yeah, me too,” Chie says, just to say something — anything — back. “The movie was awesome, wasn’t it? Man, it’d be so cool to be a part of a top secret organization like that. And that opening fight scene, where the boxer wrecked that cartel guy, was just—”

“Chie.”

“Sorry!” she exclaims, almost too fast, and she can swear she feels her ears burning. “I’m rambling, I know.”

A long beat passes them by, and Chie belatedly realizes that her palms are damp… and she’s still holding Yukiko’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Yukiko tells her, eventually, too late for it to really be true. “It’s just…”

From the corner of her eye, Chie can see Yukiko angling her head away, as if something else in the room had caught her eye — and then Yukiko is suddenly facing her, with an expression so clear and determined that Chie can’t bring herself to look away.

“Did you actually like it?”

“The movie?” Chie blurts, before her brain can catch up to her mouth, and whatever Yukiko meant to say next comes out as an exasperated breath.

After taking a moment to collect herself, Yukiko tries again: “Chie, you haven’t been acting yourself since we got back. I guess I was just wondering if…”

Yukiko’s gaze finally falters, and Chie wishes, not for the first time, that she could roundhouse kick herself in the face.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

“Oh my god, Yukiko.” This time, Chie doesn’t think about snatching up Yukiko’s other hand, or the way she tenses, a little, at the motion, or even her next words. “Yukiko, no, you’re amazing. It’s me. I’m…”

She sighs, studying the lacquered tips of Yukiko’s nails.

“I’m a real idiot. Promise you won’t hate me, okay?”

A part of Chie wants Yukiko to say no, or better yet, punch her in the mouth so that it might not ever open again. But Yukiko just laughs, a little incredulously.

“Chie, nothing you say can make me ever hate you, or think you’re an idiot.”

“That second part’s stretching it,” Chie mumbles, half-wryly. “Listen, Yukiko… I…”

The script in her head fails her, and in that space before she can recover, Yukiko offers a gentle smile.

“It’s okay, Chie. It’s just me.”

It’s hardly the most comforting reminder to Chie right then. Especially not when Yukiko — watching her and waiting for her, so composed and so patient — is the entire reason she’s such a mess in the first place. And yet…

“I thought about doing… _stuff_ , okay?!”

If Chie hasn’t already gone past the point of no return, then this is it.

“Like, the whole thing with my room,” she stammers. “And shutting Muku out, and…”

Trailing off, Chie lets her eyes wander to the burning gaze of her Bruce Lee poster… and for once, it makes her feel like even more of a failure.

“I just… wanted it to be good for you. But I psyched myself out and made everything worse. And…”

She pulls away, staring hard into her lap as she folds her hands together.

“And I’m sorry. For freaking out on you, and making you ever doubt yourself.”

“Chie…”

This time around, it’s Yukiko who reaches out, curling a soft, sure hand over Chie’s nervously knitted fingers.

“You didn’t really think…”

And when Yukiko trails off, it’s all Chie can do not to pull away again, her face hot with shame. It’s totally pathetic, she knows, but it still stings to hear Yukiko echo it all back at her: the _stuff_ she’d dared to consider, the stupid way she’d gotten her own hopes up over _that_.

But even worse is the fact that, whatever’s coming, whatever Yukiko thinks of her now… Chie knows she deserves it.

“You really thought… it was just you?”

The question comes as a breath on the shell of her ear, and before Chie can work out the implications, Yukiko’s tilting her face by the jaw, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“That I didn’t want this, too?”

Yukiko sort of hovers there for a moment, cool fingers on one side of Chie’s face, warm breath on the other. Chie thrills a little at the words, as it finally starts to sink in — _want this, Yukiko wants this_ — and she reaches up to cover Yukiko’s hand with her own, before turning to catch Yukiko’s lips in an effortless kiss.

She’s discovered, over the course of their newly evolved relationship, that kissing another girl, or maybe just kissing Yukiko, is kind of a singular experience. From the softness of her fingers as they settle over the nape of Chie’s neck, to the texture of Yukiko’s lipgloss, smeared against the corner of Chie’s mouth, or the taste of strawberry ice cream when Chie swipes a tongue, clumsily, over her teeth… none of the kisses she’d had before Yukiko could ever compare, and even daring to think about stuff beyond that...

Before Chie can think the better of it, her hand over Yukiko’s falls away, almost on its own accord, and fumbles over the curve of a breast — not enough pressure to feel much more than the shape of it under the fabric of her cardigan, but enough to notice when Yukiko stiffens at the touch, a quiet, voiceless gasp passing between their lips—

And before Chie can pull away and stammer out an apology, Yukiko has her caught by the wrist, holding her hand firmly in place. The sheer relief is enough to distract, however briefly, from the lingering question of _what now_. Sure, she’s had more than incidental brushes with this part of Yukiko, and she has at least a vague idea of what to do, and… it’s not like she doesn’t have them herself. Shouldn’t she practically be an expert?

But it’s not the same — not when it’s Yukiko. Not when it’s Yukiko sighing against her mouth, so softly that Chie can only just feel it as a plume of breath on her chin, or when it’s Yukiko running the tips of her fingers along the hollow of Chie’s neck, or when it’s Yukiko tasting her lips, almost shyly, with a hesitant swipe of her tongue. And though she knew that nothing in her classroom fantasies would ever measure up to the real thing, it’s not until Yukiko returns the gesture, smoothing her palm against the front of Chie’s blouse, that she realizes how utterly unprepared she is for this.

It’s not like she can even feel that much, not with layers of fabric in the way and the lightness of Yukiko’s halting touch, but all the same… just knowing that it’s someone else’s hand, that it’s Yukiko’s thumb slowly stroking over her shirt, that it’s Yukiko daring to press a little more firmly when Chie leans into it…

It’s enough to make her head spin. It’s enough to make her want more.

Chie almost isn’t thinking when she moves a hand down to squeeze Yukiko’s knee, and there’s a brief flash of panic when she realizes how it must look — until Yukiko takes her by the wrist once more, guiding her, ever so slightly, up the lean curve of her thigh, warm and smooth beneath her stockings. And she definitely isn’t thinking when she manages to tear her eyes from Yukiko’s slender legs, like a thief running from the scene of her crime, to chance a glimpse up at Yukiko’s eyes.

“Chie,” Yukiko murmurs, and it’s enough to hold her there, more than a little awestruck in the face of Yukiko’s steely resolve. The only thing that gives Yukiko away — the only thing that whispers of the trepidation hidden behind Yukiko’s sharp, determined gaze — is a slight tremble of her hand, the same one that holds Chie’s captive to her silky stockings, to her heated skin. And it’s that feeling, their shared understanding of that duality, that Chie clings to as Yukiko pulls just slightly away, to reach for the buttons of her own blouse.

Chie swallows over nothing, painfully conscious of her own breathing, as she watches, spellbound, Yukiko’s slow work of her buttons.

“Yeah?” she says at last, struck by her own hoarseness. Yukiko glances up, looking abashed and quizzical in equal parts, and Chie realizes she wasn’t expecting an answer. But her expression softens, and the back of her knuckles are shockingly cool where they brush against Chie’s cheek, and her smile is gentle, and her voice is breathless when she speaks.

“It’s okay,” Yukiko says, peering up through her lashes as she works the remaining buttons apart. And then, “I’m — it’s still just me.”

But it’s more than the Yukiko she’s always known, taken in at sideways glances in the changing room, the snatches of details, of broad shapes Chie would commit to memory while imagination filled out the rest. And when Yukiko’s blouse falls away from slender shoulders, Chie almost doesn’t allow herself to drink in the sight of it — the sight of her — as Yukiko sets to smoothing her hair in place, and then folding her shirt.

Most absurd of all is when Chie, eyes glued to sheer lace laid over skin, almost blurts, “It’s red,” but she manages, for once, to keep her mouth shut. It only occurs to her then that she should be doing _something_ , anything, other than openly ogling her friend, and by the time Yukiko’s turned back to face her, Chie has her shirt pulled halfway over her head. And…

And then they’re both shirtless, seated side-by-side at the end of her bed, with Chie utterly clueless how to proceed. Usually this would be the point where she looks to Yukiko for answers, but, as much as Chie hates to admit it, this is hardly trigonometry. She starts as soon as Yukiko takes a breath to speak: “You don’t have to — sorry, go on.”

“Oh, sorry,” Yukiko stammers. “I was going to say that you don’t need to… I mean, we don’t have to take this any further than you’re comfortable.”

“No!” Chie says too quickly, before wincing at the ring of desperation. “I mean, yeah, it’s awkward. I guess you can tell I’m sorta nervous, huh.”

“I’m nervous, too,” Yukiko says, but her smile is relieved. “It’s like you said before… I…”

And then the smile fades, and Yukiko is angling her face away and untucking her sleek, black hair like a curtain.

“I want this to be good for you, too.”

The way she says it, so small and quiet and uncertain, is almost enough for Chie to find her courage, to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear and turn Yukiko’s face to her own — but she continues.

“I know you know this, but… I’ve never been with anyone. Before you. So it’s…”

A sigh, and then the smile’s returned.

“It’s a learning process, for me.”

Chie almost laughs, reflexively, in her face, at the idea that she has any non-negligible experience in this department, beyond Takashi getting handsy one or two times — and ugh, that’s the last person she wants to think about right now. But she doesn’t say it.

Instead, she says, “Yeah, me too.” And then, “But I want to keep going… if you want it, too, I mean.”

The ever grim-faced, ever thumbsing-up Bruce Lee catches her eye again, and there’s a brief moment where the scrambled jigsaw in her mind’s all drifted into place, and Chie’s observing, as if almost outside herself, all her options stretched out before her. And then she covers Yukiko’s hand with her own, and leans in.

“We can—”

“We can learn together,” Yukiko interrupts her, voice thick and quiet.

“I—yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to say,” Chie says, and then she kisses Yukiko to shut them both up. Heady from the heat and taste and touch of Yukiko, Chie chases that lingering rush of initiative to wrap an arm around Yukiko’s waist and guide her, gently, down onto the bed. It’s only once they’re down there that Chie drinks in the sight of her, Yukiko’s hair pooled over the sheets like a fan of black silk, her pale skin flushed bright pink and chest heaving with eager, unsteady breaths.

“You’re really,” Chie starts, pulling away to admire the scene, before she realizes how dumb it sounds aloud, “really pretty.”

Yukiko makes a sound in her throat between acknowledgment and impatience, reaching up to lace her fingers around the nape of Chie’s neck and pull her down on top of her. The flood of sensation is dizzying at first, when Yukiko presses her chest flush to Chie’s. Every touch lights a blazing path of nerves: the glide of fabric against fabric, the friction of flesh against tacky flesh, the surprising strength of Yukiko’s arms wrapped tight around Chie’s back and pinning her in place.

And as Yukiko surges up to steal another kiss, with Chie scrambling to meet her halfway, it feels like everything’s happening at once: Yukiko’s curling a foot around Chie’s bare ankle and snaking a hand between their bodies, and Chie’s dragging her lips down the side of Yukiko’s jaw, to her neck, where she catches a mouthful of hair. Drunk off the closeness and undeterred, she shifts her weight back, and the bed groans as the ridge of her knee presses against Yukiko’s groin, through her skirt.

“Chie…!” Yukiko breathes, and the way Chie can _feel_ it — the way Yukiko’s spine arches beneath her, the way their hips slot together perfectly for just a split second — just as much as she hears it is enough to—

But then Yukiko’s hand is pressing over her heart, and this time, she’s not exploring. She uses that surprising strength to push Chie back a little, to drive some space between the two of them. And it’s only then that it starts to sink in, that Chie realizes just how far gone they are, with Yukiko’s dark eyes wide in something like apprehension, her smooth hair now rumpled and askew.

“Oh my god.” Chie sits up ramrod straight, more aware than ever of the knee still situated between Yukiko’s legs. “Yukiko, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t— I’m such a screwup.”

“Chie, it’s…” Yukiko averts her eyes, still flushed down to the chest, still a little breathless. “It’s not just you. I think we both got a little carried away.”

Before Yukiko can reach for Chie’s hand, Chie’s already rolled off of her, groping for the shirt she tossed aside just minutes ago, ignoring her name in Yukiko’s voice. And all she can think about is how much of an idiot she is, how stupid she was to imagine that things even began to feel embarrassing before — if all of that was embarrassing, then this is downright humiliating.

“Chie,” Yukiko repeats, and the obvious note of sympathy in her voice doesn’t make things much better. But it’s enough to get Chie to pause, with her hands looped through the armholes of her shirt, and finally chance a guilty glimpse at Yukiko’s face.

“It’s okay. Really.”

Even more embarrassing yet is how easily it all gets to her — the easy reassurance in Yukiko’s words, the kindness in her eyes, the way she gently reaches out to brush Chie’s bare arm. Chie can practically feel herself deflate, the tension in her shoulders seeping out, the shirt in her hands going limp.

“I… I do want this,” Yukiko tells her in a hush, hand tracing down to Chie’s own, both of their eyes following the invisible path of Yukiko’s fingertips. And despite everything, in spite of the embarrassment and the awkwardness of it all, Yukiko’s admission still sets off something in Chie. It makes her heart beat a little faster. It makes her want to try again, to make everything right.

And as she looks up, just in time to catch Yukiko’s hesitant glance in her own, only to find Yukiko just as caring, just as strong, just as lovely as ever… it reminds Chie of why they started all of this in the first place.

“Me too,” she manages, still a little struck by the roughness in her own voice.

“Just…” Yukiko hesitates for a beat, fingers knitting with Chie’s. “Maybe not so fast?”

Something low and deep within Chie rouses itself — intrigue and curiosity and the phantom sensations of Yukiko’s lips on her ear and Yukiko’s fingers splayed just above the waistband of her skirt.

She takes Yukiko’s wrist in her unsteady grip, drawing on courage she didn’t know she had, and says, “Show me.”

Yukiko stares at their hands, a little startled and also a little wondering, and then meets Chie’s gaze with a nod.

“Right,” Yukiko starts, and the faintest of tremors in her breath betrays her as she draws Chie’s hand up to her lips, planting a kiss to her knuckles. Chie can only watch and marvel a bit herself as Yukiko settles back, beckoning Chie over with a tilt of her chin. She’s over in an instant, carefully arranging her limbs as she leans over Yukiko so that the same mistake from before isn’t repeated — but Yukiko’s reaching up to catch her hand, pressing it against the warm plane of her breastbone.

“It’s okay,” she says.

“Yeah,” Chie breathes, and she swallows when Yukiko guides her hand lower, and then over the mound of a breast.

“It’s okay,” Yukiko repeats, and together they continue their halting path down her front; she stops at her hipbone, sticking out a little, enticingly, from her skirt. Chie lingers there, maybe long enough for things to get awkward again, stroking with her thumb along the ridge of bone and the dip of her navel, before finally curling a single finger beneath the elastic of Yukiko’s waistband.

“What about this,” Chie murmurs. “Is this okay?”

Yukiko answers with a low hum of affirmation, and her hand inches down, ever so slightly, to reveal more gleaming skin beneath her skirt and stockings, and beyond that… Chie nearly reels back at the sight, the sheer red lace and intricate patterns that _so totally match the bra_ , and… Chie dares to wonder if Yukiko planned for this, just as Chie did herself.

It’s a short-lived thought, because nothing can compare to the sight of Yukiko neatly pulling away her stockings, laying her skirt to the side, and lying back, stripped down to her underwear, in Chie’s own bed. And maybe there are some added benefits of slowing down, Chie thinks, as she indulges in the sight laid out before her, in all the details she once tried so hard to both memorize and ignore. It’s only when she feels Yukiko’s cold toes against her own ankle that she realizes she must’ve been staring, and for a while.

“Sorry,” she says, lowering her gaze, but Yukiko only shakes her head, a faint smile on her lips.

“I told you,” Yukiko replies quietly, one hand reaching for Chie’s bare shoulder, gently guiding her down. And then, when they’re face to face once more, Chie’s eyes flickering from eyes to lips and back again: “It’s okay.”

This time, Chie angles her face for the next kiss, and it’s not long before she can feel Yukiko’s tongue passing effortlessly into her mouth. Almost out of reflex, Chie pushes back, driven by the urge to give as much to Yukiko as she gets, to offer part of herself as freely and as fully, to feel Yukiko and taste Yukiko and drink in every second of that warmth. And it’s so much easier now too, now that they’ve slowed down, not only to notice all of it but to revel in it: the slight rise and fall of Yukiko’s chest beneath her own, dark eyelashes fanning and fluttering above flawless cheekbones, and the incredible, enticing heat radiating from her neck, when Yukiko tilts her head back just so, when Chie moves to meet her throat with her mouth.

Yukiko lets out something between a gasp and a sigh, and Chie needs to pause a moment, without breaking the seal of her lips over Yukiko’s skin, to regain her composure. High and cracked, it’s unlike anything she’s heard from the ever-poised Yukiko, and it’s that thrill and that strangeness that urges Chie lower, driving her to do whatever it takes to hear that noise again. The thin flesh of her collarbone is hot and pliable, and her skin tastes like the rose fragrance of Yukiko’s soap, and her breath catches when Chie licks a wet stripe down her chest, pausing just before the rise of her breasts. Chie doesn’t get more than a moment to consider her options before Yukiko’s pushing her head, insistently, lower than she’s ever dared to go, where she’s met with an eyeful of warm skin and red lace.

Armed with a singleminded goal and a vague idea of what she _thinks_ might feel good, Chie strokes a thumb over the faint peak through Yukiko’s bra and wonders how the hell she’s going to get the thing off. She could try having Yukiko sit up, she guesses, or digging for the hooks — but when she reaches around to unfasten the garment, she only succeeds in pinning her hand between the bed and Yukiko’s back.

“Um,” she stammers, feeling just as useless as her trapped hand — and the indulgent, amused smile that graces Yukiko’s perfect lips is no help either.

“Here, let me.” And with a slight arch of her back and a few quick snaps, Chie can only stare while Yukiko does what she couldn’t in a matter of seconds. Their eyes meet for just a moment, and it’s so hard to decide where to look first: the warmth and elation written all over Yukiko’s face, or the red satin straps falling away from pale shoulders.

It’s only after Yukiko pulls it away completely that Chie, more than a little awestruck, finally remembers to take her hand back. It’s not as though she’s never caught glimpses of Yukiko, like this, when she would tell herself that it was for comparison, or innocuous admiration, or jealousy’s sake — and then later, when she was well aware of the _why,_ to snatch those brief impressions, Yukiko’s shape and silhouette, the lines of her torso, the milky flesh, before the sting of shame would turn her away…

But it’s okay, she thinks, holding the mantra close to her heart. It’s okay to see Yukiko, and touch Yukiko, and know she’s beautiful — to let Yukiko know how beautiful she is.

And it’s with that in mind that Chie lets herself reach out and touch, gently, almost timidly molding the slope of her palm to the curve of Yukiko’s breast. Even as deliberate as she is, it’s still a little overwhelming — Yukiko’s half-lidded eyes, glittering up at her, the breath that Yukiko inhales sharply through her nose, and the way the flesh under Chie’s palm stiffens, almost immediately, in response to her light contact.

It’s enough to drive Chie on, to encourage her to experiment, with the tips of her fingers, with the pad of her thumb, every touch rewarded with a sigh, a deep breath, a tilt of the head. And when Yukiko, so relaxed and so yielding beneath her, more so than Chie ever dared to dream in her most secret fantasies, all but pants her name in a soft sigh—

Chie dips down, dragging a tongue, tentatively, over a nipple, before taking Yukiko into her mouth. She can feel Yukiko tensing beneath her — can hear her own name again, thin and pleading and almost alien to her ear, as Yukiko’s grip finds its way to the back of her head, slender fingers bunching in her hair.  And maybe the most surprising part of all, more than the little noises Yukiko’s making in the back of her throat, more than glancing up to find Yukiko’s neck exposed, face lolling to one side, lips parted… is that Chie finds herself nearly that far gone too.

It’s all too easy to get caught up in it, her own reactions to every single one of Yukiko’s sighs, pleas, and touches, spreading like a wildfire beneath her own skin. From the way Yukiko’s muscles seize underneath her, to the quiet, broken gasps, to the fist winding into Chie’s hair, a vicious urgency overtakes Chie — to dig deeper, to squeeze and pull and bite down, ever so slightly, where she’s sure Yukiko wants it most. Yukiko’s cry is sharp and sudden, and Chie almost starts away before she’s forced back against Yukiko’s chest by an insistent hand.

It’s a thick, slow-spreading realization: Yukiko likes this. Yukiko wants this.

“Chie…” The hand around the back of Chie’s head clasps her tight; it’s the most undone she’s heard Yukiko in her life. “... Please.”

Maybe, Chie thinks, Yukiko needs this. She bites down again, and Yukiko arches against her mouth, nails curling into her scalp, her shoulder, dragging angry paths down the curve of Chie’s back. It’s a little painful and a lot invigorating, and Chie wonders if this is how Yukiko likes it.

And it’s that bit of speculation which sticks in her head as she tries for the opposite side, barely pausing to lap a little with her tongue before taking Yukiko’s skin between her teeth, and bearing down harder—

“Mmph— ow!”

Even if she didn’t hear Yukiko yelp, Chie still would’ve known she’d taken a wrong turn. She can feel it, in the way Yukiko suddenly tenses up, in the way the hand on the back of her head goes totally still. She mumbles an abashed apology into Yukiko’s chest, swiping her tongue attentively over the spot she’d just bitten too hard, tension seeping out of her bones when Yukiko melts back into her loose embrace. And somehow, it’s hard for Chie to deny how readily it affects her too, the way they both bounce back so easily — even if Chie does screw up (a lot), it’s exhilarating, in a way, learning and discovering these things together with Yukiko. Even more exhilarating is when Chie gets it _right_ — the right pressure, the right rhythm, alternating between teeth and hands and tongue as the pattern of Yukiko’s nails on her skin grows more and more erratic…

Until she grabs Chie by the wrist, and before Chie can wonder if she’s screwed up again, Yukiko’s forcing her hand down, past her hip, to the smooth curve of her thigh.

And then it’s Chie’s turn to freeze up.

Not one to be deterred, she moves to compensate for the absence, covering the bared skin with her mouth — and then Yukiko’s tugging her away, by the hair, so that her eyes meet Yukiko’s unfocused gaze.

“Chie,” she starts, before audibly swallowing. “Can… can you…”

And then she draws up a knee, parting her leg, a little, to the side. It belatedly dawns on Chie what’s being asked of her — what Yukiko wants from her — as Yukiko draws her hand over the crease between her thigh and groin, and then heated fabric, and then—

“God, you like this.” Chie doesn't even realize she's saying it aloud — doesn't hear her own whisper — until Yukiko gives a sharp nod, pressing Chie’s palm against the unmistakable dampness.

“Mmhm.”

A smarter, or more experienced, or less generally terrified Chie would have played along with her own happy accident of goading Yukiko into a frenzy; instead, she molds her palm, tentative and awestruck, against the gentle curve, wondering how it might feel, how it—how it might taste.

It turns out to be quite the potent motivator, that combination of base curiosity and Yukiko’s stifled gasp at her touch. And it’s more than enough encouragement for Chie, who draws another hand down, to hook a single finger between elastic and bare skin, looking to Yukiko for approval — only to watch in near-stupefied admiration as Yukiko takes matters into her own hands, grasps the opposite side and _yanks_.

Chie can only wait, stunned to silence, for her muddled brain to piece together the scene before her. That Yukiko is here — that Chie _has_ Yukiko here, spread languidly, on her back, on _Chie’s bed_ , every inch of her exposed and open and wanting — it’s all unbelievable enough. Chie is slow to drink in the sights, from the flush of Yukiko’s face, to the sheen of sweat on her breasts, to the angling of her hips, and then between her legs, where—

“Whoa, Yukiko…”  Chie’s own blabbing mouth betrays her, and now it’s too late to take it back. “You… uh.”

The dark patch of hair there catches her eye, sleek and unmistakably groomed.

“Do you…” Yukiko hesitates, and Chie can’t miss the way her fingers curl, just slightly, into the blankets. “Do you not— _mmph_ —”

It’s yet another impulse that drives Chie to lean over and catch Yukiko’s mouth in a deep, lingering kiss, before Yukiko can even finish doubting herself — but this time, she’s sure it’s a step back in the right direction.

“I like it,” she admits quietly, against the refuge of Yukiko’s lips, marveling just a little at the sheer truth of it. And then, before she can stop herself, with her hand tracing down Yukiko’s smooth, soft belly: “Can I…?”

Yukiko nods so fast that their noses bump, her fingers immediately finding their way to intertwine with Chie’s.

“Please.”

They traverse the short distance together, from Yukiko’s navel to the first prickling hint of coarse hair. Somehow, Chie can’t help but think, it feels even more intimate with Yukiko’s hand gently guiding her — let alone the way their eyes remain locked, their foreheads touching, their breath mingling. And Chie, still more than a little blown away at the very idea that Yukiko _trimmed_ for her, maybe even _planned_ for this, all of this—

None of it could possibly compare to the trace of slickness that meets her fingertips, to Yukiko sighing and slowly tossing her head back against the bedding, to knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that _she did this_. She made Yukiko — feel like this.

“Please,” Yukiko repeats in a sigh, when Chie’s hand stills, and she can only oblige.

It’s both similar and different to touching herself, and yet so much better all the same. Yukiko keeps her hand in a loose hold around Chie’s wrist, and when Chie dares to delve just a little further, exploring Yukiko with two cautious fingertips, she’s not sure where to rest her gaze first: the slight motions of her own hand between Yukiko’s parted thighs, or Yukiko’s beautiful face, her eyes half-lidded, and silent, shapeless words forming on her exquisite lips.

And it’s only then, with everything between them slowed to a deliberate crawl, that it all hits Chie, like yet another gentle punch to the gut. The air feels like it’s gone thin, her breath is reduced to rapid, shallow spurts, and every bit of heat in her body feels like it’s migrating, all too fast, to pool together in one very specific place.

In all the times she imagined — dreamed — of this, she never thought it’d get to her quite this much, but that particular development, and the way it thrums electric in her veins, is more than welcome. And it’s with that in mind, leaning down to taste at the warm, now slightly sticky skin of Yukiko’s neck and shoulders all over again, that Chie dares to dream a little bigger.

When she reaches Yukiko’s chest, it’s almost too tempting to linger in that familiar territory — but there’s no backing out now, and no changing course. She moves fast, maybe a little too fast, peppering kisses down Yukiko’s stomach, over her hips — and it’s only when she presses another to the beginnings of Yukiko’s neatly shorn hair that it suddenly all seems a little too real. She’s really going to do this. _They’re_ going to do this.

Yukiko draws one of her legs up around Chie’s back, resting it there, which in turn further parts her thighs — and Chie’s pretty sure she could die satisfied, right then and there. It’s even better when Yukiko whispers her name, reaching down to trace the sloping outline of her face.

“Just,” Chie starts, pausing to swallow on the saliva that’s started pooling in her mouth, “Just — tell me if I screw this up, all right?”

Yukiko nods, and Chie — hands shaking, heart racing — takes the dive.

She can’t help but start off slow, tentative — thinking absently to herself that Yukiko tastes sharper, somehow, compared to the few times she’s been curious enough to stick her own fingers in her mouth, after — that. It’s not unpleasant though, not in the least, and Chie’s pretty sure, as she spreads Yukiko further with two nervous fingers, that she’s never been this never been this aroused in her entire life.

She’s also pretty sure, even as she traces her tongue carefully over Yukiko’s soft, yielding curves, even as her heart leaps a little at the salty wetness on her lips — that she has absolutely no clue what she’s doing.

And despite all the times she’s thought about doing exactly this, despite all the embarrassing internet searches and magazine articles and health classes and — and despite the fact that Yukiko, for her part, doesn’t seem to mind, even seems, if her breathy panting and fingers wound tight into Chie’s hair are anything to go by, to _like_ it—

Panic rises high in Chie’s chest. She promised Yukiko that she’d do this right, didn’t she? And it’s that fear of screwing everything up yet again, maybe even irrevocably this time around (of letting Yukiko down for real) that leads her mind back to meticulously detailed classroom diagrams, and those awful, horribly written articles. Didn’t she read something once about licking out hiragana?

Before her brain has entirely caught up with her, Chie’s already started mapping out vowel sounds with her tongue. But it has to be better, she figures, than just poking around with no direction. She tries to remember what else that dumb article said; something about taking your time no matter what, and… pretending you’re eating a mango, she thinks? By the time she gets to the consonant unions, she’s feeling confident about her decision—

“Um… Chie?”

It’s very belatedly that Chie notices how still, and how quiet, Yukiko has gone. Even the hand in her hair has gone slack.

She groans, letting her forehead fall against the inside of Yukiko’s thigh.

“I screwed up, didn’t I.”

“It’s okay!” Yukiko’s quick to assure her, in both words and with a gentle hand on Chie’s cheek, but Chie’s already mortified beyond belief. “It’s just—”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Chie,” Yukiko repeats, a little more forcefully. And then, as tender as her fingers on the side of Chie’s face: “It’s all right, really.”

Chie’s not so sure that it is. And she’s about to blurt out more dumb, useless apologies — but Yukiko speaks up again.

“It — it felt really good. Before.”

Despite herself, intrigue gets the better of her.

“Did it?”

“It did,” Yukiko admits, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

And Chie feels like an idiot, all over again, for letting herself forget — all of this has to be strange, and nervewracking, for Yukiko too.

“Could you… maybe,” Yukiko begins, her voice going shy and soft, “could you do that again?”

Chie wonders what “before” might mean. It’s not like she was doing anything special… at least, not that she knows of. (Maybe that’s just it — that she didn’t think, but felt.)

“Yukiko…” She turns her face back against the inside of Yukiko’s thigh, planting an apologetic kiss to the pale skin there. “I know I’m basically the biggest screwup there is, but I promise you…”

Another kiss, this time on the crease of her groin.

“I promise I… I’m going to make you feel really good, okay?”

She presses her next kiss between the splay of her own fingers, where she knows Yukiko will feel it most, relishing in the way Yukiko’s grip curls, involuntarily, over the nape of her neck, to bring her closer. And then another kiss, more firm and insistent, against that same spot; and then a third, loose and open-mouthed, dragging her tongue along the outline of swollen flesh. Chie’s so caught up in the task that, in that moment, nothing else exists — until Yukiko’s leg is hooked again around her back, and Yukiko’s pushing up against her jaw, and Yukiko’s hand is snaking between skin and mouth to spread herself wide, and Yukiko’s breathing her name, so desperate and broken that it barely reaches Chie’s ears.

And Chie’s half-formed scrap of a theory from before turns out to be completely true: letting herself simply _feel_ everything is so, so much better than overthinking it. From the taste and the heat of Yukiko’s slick flesh, to all the intoxicating little sounds spilling freely from Yukiko’s throat, and to the maddening, thrilling way it all sets off a burst of flames, somewhere low and deep in her own body — it’s all so overwhelming, in the best of ways, and yet, somehow—

Yukiko’s voice, fractured and jagged, catches on her name again, and this time, Chie _knows_ — she can _feel_ — it’s because she’s doing everything right.

“Chie, I want—” Yukiko breathes, back arching, hands restless in Chie’s hair, on her face, “I want you.”

“You have me,” she murmurs back, before she can second-guess herself, even punctuating it with a slow lash of her tongue.

But Yukiko is insistent, desperate. “I want _more_ of you. I want—”

Chie leans in to trace another unhurried path with her mouth, and Yukiko breaks off in a sharp gasp. She could, she thinks, get used to this.

“What do you want, Yukiko,” she asks in a hush, so close to Yukiko’s sensitive skin that her breath fans over it — and she watches, awed, as Yukiko rolls her hips a little.

“Chie, you’re—” Yukiko’s head is tilted back, her halting voice and unfocused eyes trained to the ceiling, as if even looking at Chie is too much for her, right then. “I never thought you’d be such a tease.”

Chie, for her part, all but chokes on nothing, stopping just short of a sputtered _I didn’t mean to_ , because it’s true, she really didn’t — but maybe.

Maybe she could get used to that too.

She shoves a couple of her own fingers in her mouth, making just enough noise to get Yukiko’s wide-eyed attention. And when she does, the little thrill of victory, of being _right_ again, is so, so sweet.

Their eyes are still locked on each other when Chie withdraws from her mouth, pressing her newly-wet fingertips back to Yukiko, just shy of entering. It’s intense, and intimate, and more than a little breathtaking — and she feels that shiver of victory ease into something warmer, something even more powerful.

“Yukiko.” She somehow finds the nerve to speak, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Is this — is this what you want?”

So much for trying to be a tease. But Yukiko’s hand circles her wrist again with a determined grip, threatening to make the push for her, and maybe, Chie thinks, maybe the effect is all the same.

“I want it,” Yukiko gasps at her, thumb pressing hard against Chie’s pulse. “I need it — I need _you_ , Chie.”

It’s all Chie can do not to stop everything, not to bury her face against Yukiko’s inner thigh and try to remember how to breathe again. She doesn’t know how she finds the willpower, the resolve to keep her eyes open and her head up when she finally, finally gives Yukiko what she wants (what they _both_ want), careful fingers slowly plying into Yukiko’s supple heat. But more than being overwhelmed, flustered, utterly undone by Yukiko’s pleas, even as _want_ and _need_ and _you_ buzz loud and formidable in Chie’s head—

She needs it too. She needs to see this. Yukiko’s beautiful face, tossed back against Chie’s own pillows, lips parted on a wordless, shapeless noise. Her own fingers, disappearing slow and smooth, coming back damp and glistening; the wet, slick slide growing easier with every pass.

The air in Chie’s lungs is thick and heavy, and everything starts to feel like it’s being drawn into sharp relief. Her hair’s gone limp with sweat around her face, she’s practically panting, and she’s never, ever wanted to touch herself so badly.

Instead she crooks her busy fingers at the middle joint, strokes and presses the pad of her thumb to Yukiko’s sensitive skin in just the right place, and watches, amazed and maybe even a little stunned, as Yukiko arcs her back off the mattress, her eyes going closed, her cries ringing out like a peal.

It’s the most erotic thing Chie’s ever seen, by a long shot. It also makes panic flit dangerously in her chest all over again — for entirely different reasons.

“Yukiko,” Chie warns, slowing her hand, careful to keep her own voice low. Her parents are sleeping right down the hall, and that’s just about last thing she wants to think about right now.

“Sorry,” Yukiko all but rasps, not sounding like she particularly means it. Especially not when she follows it with: “Please, Chie, keep going, please—”

Chie scrambles up the bed on her knees, hand still in place, and crashes down to the bed, silencing Yukiko with her own lips.

It might be the best idea she’s had all night. Yukiko presses close to the length of Chie’s body, all bare, sweat-soaked skin and restless limbs, arching again and again into Chie’s hand, moaning into Chie’s mouth. And it’s all so incredible, so blindingly _good_ it’s almost unreal — so good that when the outer curve of Yukiko’s thigh brushes up against Chie’s hips, Chie can’t help but finally give in, desperately seeking out some of her own relief. She’s not sure how it even remotely counts as a turn-on, the way she’s shamelessly rutting up against Yukiko’s leg like some kind of crazed animal, but when Yukiko _whines_ around the damper of her tongue—

“Yukiko,” she breathes through gritted teeth, determined not to let herself give in just yet, not entirely. “Yukiko, I—”

Before Chie can manage to get the words out, before she can even register what’s happening, Yukiko’s fingers are frantic against the skin below her navel. Yukiko claws at the waistband of Chie’s skirt, pushing past and inside the confines of her dampened underwear. And then it’s all Chie can do to keep quiet herself, unable to stop from rocking hard against the heel of Yukiko’s palm, from opening up to the quick press of Yukiko’s fingers.

She doesn’t know how she keeps going, how she keeps Yukiko gasping and writhing against her, in the face of her own pleasure, her own glaring, scintillating _need_. She just knows that she has to.

“Yukiko,” Chie repeats, with newfound abandon, unable to stop herself, unable to quiet all the warmth, all the feeling rising from somewhere deep within — and not sure if she’d want to, even if she had a choice. “I need you too.”

Chie can feel it as Yukiko begins to slip; she can feel it in the flex and seize of the fingers crammed artlessly between her legs, in the way Yukiko buries her face in Chie’s neck, responding, between gasps, in an incoherent stammer.

“Chie, I—” Yukiko starts, her lips faltering against Chie’s skin, like she can’t quite say whatever it is, like she’s still holding back. “I really— I’m so—”

“It’s okay.” And Chie’s faintly aware, somewhere beyond the sheer, staggering thrill of her own gratification, that it’s not unlike the way Yukiko reassured her, not too long ago. “It’s okay, Yukiko.”

Whatever Yukiko had meant to say breaks off into a half-sob, but her utter _need_ comes through in everything but her words. Chie catches her next cry in a heated kiss, driving Yukiko into her mattress with the force of her entire arm, her entire body, watching through her eyelashes as Yukiko unravels beneath her.

“Come on, Yukiko,” she murmurs, in part to distract from the stiffness setting in her own wrist; Yukiko wrenches her head to the side, muffling her groan into the pillow, but not before Chie can catch the glint of tears in half-lidded eyes. Her tongue’s moving too fast for her brain, but she’s also too far gone to care: “Please— for me—”

The rush of power from really _feeling_ Yukiko’s reactions — from the shudder that rolls down the length of her body, to the quick spasms around Chie’s fingers — is almost intoxicating, and Chie leans in to coax more of it out of her, when Yukiko speaks first.

“Chie, I…” Chie’s name is a strangled breath against her ear, like Yukiko’s giving her dying words. “I lo—I l-love—”

The last syllable dissolves into a sharp gasp, like Yukiko’s catching her breath; the tips of her nails bite into Chie’s wrist as she holds Chie’s hand firm in its place, trembling over the crook of her fingers.

“I l-love you,” Yukiko whimpers, and Chie’s almost too struck to take in the moment crystallizing before her — the stiff, high arch of Yukiko’s back, the hushed moan that tears from the back of her throat, the expression caught between pain and wordless bliss and awe — before Yukiko falls back against the mattress, sucking in deep, ragged breaths.

It occurs to Chie only then, between Yukiko’s hot, steadying pants and the flits of aftershocks around Chie’s fingers, that Yukiko might’ve expected an answer.

“Yukiko…” she starts, gingerly, mostly to fill the space while her own thoughts slowly resolve to coherence. Chie can only hold onto the sight of Yukiko, so undone, so softened and worn, as her mind plays the words on endless loop: _I love you, I love you, I love you._ “I…”

But then Yukiko’s grip finds the back of her neck, and Yukiko’s pulling her down into a forceful kiss, working up a frenetic rhythm with the hand still lodged down the front of Chie’s underwear.

“I love you, so, so much,” Yukiko murmurs, combing fingers through Chie’s sweat-soaked bangs. She rises to meet Chie with another kiss, and it’s all Chie can do to hold her legs apart and keep her knees from giving away beneath her, to rock against the quick pad of Yukiko’s thumb as her brain succumbs to the blank heat.

Chie isn’t far — she hasn’t been far for a while — but she tries to hold out for just a little longer, through the mounting pressure that builds between her hips, through the heat spreading like a blanket of pinpricks under her skin, to get a word in edgewise.

“Yukiko…” It’s a little humiliating, the way her voice pitches into a gasp when Yukiko doesn’t let up, coaxing her to the very brink of self-control.  And when she finally finds her words, jumbled and thick as they bubble up from her throat in a rasp, desperate and urgent: “Yukiko, I love you too, I…”

A sharp cry cuts her off, and Chie’s only distantly aware that the noise belongs to her, with all of her focus pooled into the motion of her hips, the spasmodic jerks over the brace of Yukiko’s palm, her own darkening vision, and at the edge of her flooded senses, Yukiko’s soft reassurances — Yukiko’s fingers stroking her hair.

“That’s it, Chie,” Yukiko whispers, and Chie’s buckling over with a half-stifled groan before the surge of heat subsides, clinging to Yukiko like a lifeline. And it only faintly occurs to Chie, when Yukiko’s betrayed by the slightest tremor in her voice, that Yukiko’s just as frayed as she is: “That was— Chie, you’re so good…”

They ride out the remainder of Chie’s heady, lingering waves like this, sprawled side-by-side over sweat-dampened sheets, until Chie slowly returns to her senses. Her focus settles first over her bare ceiling, and then, once again, Bruce Lee’s steely visage — and locking eyes with her martial arts idol is way, way too much, at this point, and Chie throws an arm over her face to try and block out the image of his congratulatory thumbs-up.

“I really oughta redecorate sometime,” she mutters.

“Wha…”

Letting her arm fall away, Chie moves to roll onto her side and face Yukiko — but she’s more aware than ever, now, of the slickness cooling over her fingers, and not quite sure what to do about it. After a beat of hesitation, she settles for wiping it off the side of her skirt, figuring it’s going into the wash anyway.

A fresh silence falls over the two of them. Yukiko’s face is still angled away from her, the tips of her fingers resting lightly over Chie’s, and for a moment Chie wonders if she might have fallen asleep. The thought is strangely emboldening; if there were ever a time to put her foot in her mouth, it’s now.

“Yukiko,” she tries, suppressing a wince at her own cracking voice.

It’s enough to make Yukiko, heavy-eyed but yet awake, slowly turn to her, and Chie’s confronted with another daunting realization: that of her own feelings, written openly upon Yukiko’s face, reflected in her tired, shining eyes.

“It was good for me too.” It’s an understatement, by far — but, Chie figures, it’s a start. “It was… really good.”

And Yukiko’s smile in return is so gentle, so content. Chie can’t help but reach out for her, brushing back a bit of her loosened, tangled hair.

“Chie, I…” Yukiko takes her hand, holding it to her bare skin, with all tenderness and no heat. “I had such a wonderful time with you. I never imagined — or, well, I did imagine. But—”

“Yeah,” Chie says, unable to help a somewhat sheepish smile of her own. “I think I get what you mean.”

A few moments pass them by, and she watches the ease drain, slow but steady, from Yukiko’s face, the restlessness in her own mind spreading as well.

It’s Yukiko who breaks the silence first.

“I know we got a little—” Yukiko stops, hesitating, like she’s choosing the right words — or maybe she can’t say the ones she wants to. “Carried away.”

“Yeah. Maybe we did.”

But with her eyes settled over their intertwined fingers, Chie knows, for certain, that it’s not the whole truth. It’s a little embarrassing, even just turning the words over in her own head, now that they’re no longer in the thick of things— but all the same, she knows.

And she knows she needs to say it out loud too.

“I don’t regret it, though.” She squeezes Yukiko’s hand, planting a light kiss over her knuckles for good measure. “None of it. At least… not if you don’t.”

They’re still so close, close enough that Chie can feel the tension seep from Yukiko’s muscles, the sigh of relief she lets go.

“I could never,” Yukiko whispers into scant space between the two of them, before leaning in once more, closing the gap with both her words and her lips.

And Chie can’t help but feel, as their legs tangle all over again, as a whole new wave of emotion — of _love_ — swells and crests in her heart:

They’re going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> As you might've noticed, this work is part of a series! Stay tuned for the next entry (hint: it involves the kouhais...)


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